


bridgewell

by dreamslikepaperlanterns



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (bc no one i know has seen tog), Canon Temporary Character Death, M/M, Not Beta Read, Original Character Death(s), POV Outsider, arguably inappropriate bets were made, but who wins the bet that is the question, just a little mission fic, nicky gets understandably angry when someone kills joe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 12:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamslikepaperlanterns/pseuds/dreamslikepaperlanterns
Summary: Many people had tried to kill Marcus Bridgewell over the years, rival crime rings, law enforcement, governments, but none had ever come armed with swords.orIf a group of immortal warriors come after you, the best you can do is find the humor in the situation
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 2
Kudos: 81





	bridgewell

The shotgun blast echoed through the room.

Ears ringing, Marcus Bridgewell, international crime boss, slumped against the cinderblock wall and slid to the ground. Barely five feet away from him lay the body of the man he had just shot, the man who had come to kill him. A slowly spreading pool of blood seeped around a curved sword that his would-be assassin had been carrying.

Marcus fought down a hysterical laugh. Many people had tried to kill him over the years, rival crime rings, law enforcement, governments, but none had ever come armed with swords. Through maybe that was the lucky charm. Most of his guards, if not all, were dead and Marcus was now left alone in the bare concrete bunker in the basement of his compound. He could just make out the sounds of gunfire and combat from the floors above.

He had just begun to consider trying to get up to close the bunker door when he heard footsteps. An unfamiliar man stepped in through the still open door and into the small room.

Marcus tried to lift his shotgun, but his arms hurt too much from the kickback of his last shot. He was not a man of action himself, that's why he paid other people to do it for him.

The man took in the scene before him. He was tall, shoulders filling the doorway, his cold gaze sweeping the room. Danger radiated off every inch of him. He began to walk forward and Marcus's mouth went dry.

But the man's focus wasn't on Marcus, rather he seemed fixed on the cooling body of his comrade. He knelt, uncaring of the blood that quickly seeped through his pants, and put a hand on the bloody curls of the dead man on the floor. He leaned forward till their foreheads touched and whispered something. A prayer maybe? Marcus had never been religious himself. Sure, he made a show of it sometimes for his followers, but he wasn't a believer by any means.

Seemingly done with his prayers, the man stood and finally fixed his gaze on Marcus.

"Mr. Bridgewell," the man spoke at last. "It seems there is nowhere left to run."

His accent was vaguely Italian, and Marcus absently wondered if he'd somehow managed to offend the Italian mob.

The man gracefully stepped over the body between them, his hands going to a weapon at his side. Oh great, he had a sword too. What was with the sudden popularity of weaponry from several centuries ago? Were these mercs historical reenactors in their spare time? Or would it be the other way round…

"You have done many bad things Mr. Bridgewell. Even if we hadn't been hired to end your reign of terror, we would have come for you in the end."

As he spoke, the man drew his sword from its sheath. Light glinted dully off of the long blade.

"You have been the cause of much pain to men, women, and children. You have ruined lives, _ended_ lives." He regarded the sword in his hand before an elegant twist of his wrist had the blade pointed directly at Marcus's throat.

Marcus gulped. His mind decided that this was the perfect time to tap out and scuttle off to hide somewhere.

"Every cruel act that you have committed is deserving of this punishment," using the point of his blade the man tilted Marcus's chin up till they were looking eye to eye. Marcus suddenly knew with absolute certainly that this was a man who had watched empires rise and crumble. There was an ancient weight to that gaze. Those were eyes that would watch the Bridgewell criminal empire collapse without batting an eyelash.

"However..."

Was that an opening? What there something Marcus could bargain with? Money, power? Everyone wanted those things, even if they said they didn’t. He opened his mouth to try and negotiate, but before he could start, he was cut off by the man pressing the sharp edge of the blade just a little deeper into Marcus's throat.

"Your last mistake, your final crime, was shooting the love of my life."

It was at this point that Marcus's cowering brain fixated on the weapon that was certainly going to kill him. How could he not, it was literally right under his nose. The gold hilt at the other end of the three feet of cold steel between him and the man perfectly matched that of the curved blade of his last assailant, lying just a few feet away.

Shit.

This might not be something Marcus could talk his way out of.

"Goodbye Mr. Bridgewell."

* * *

"A little theatrical my heart, wouldn't you say?"

Nicky’s shoulders slumped in relief at the sound of Joe’s voice. He glanced behind him in time to see Joe groan and try to sit up from where he'd fallen. Nicky shrugged. "Perhaps. I was upset, and he really was a horrible excuse for a human being. Can you blame me for wanting him to experience the same fear his victims did?" he wiped off the point of his sword on the target’s pant leg before turning to Joe to help him up.

Joe took his hand gratefully, leaning heavily on him as he stood.

“Are you alright habibi?”

Joe prodded his still healing chest and winced. “A shotgun at point blank range is never fun, but I’m healing up fine, you worry too much.” He picked at the tattered remains of his shirt. “I did rather like this shirt though.”

Nicky huffed out a laugh, squeezing his arm a little tighter around Joe’s waist. His heart had near stopped when he'd walked into that room and seen his beloved lying on the floor, his chest blown to pieces. No matter how many times Joe came back, it never got any easier to see him hurt.

Seeming to sense how unsettled Nicky still was, Joe turned to face him, bringing a hand up to tenderly cup the back of his neck. “I really am okay though, I’m still here with you.” He pressed their foreheads together and Nicky let out a sigh.

“I know. But still, try not to do that again,”

“I’ll do my best,” Joe lightly kissed Nicky’s temple before stepping away, stooping to pick up his dropped scimitar. Sliding it back into its scabbard, Joe returned to Nicky’s open and waiting arms. In the floors above them the sounds of fighting died out. The others must have cleared the house.

“You know babe; I think you won the bet.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you got the target in the end.”

Nicky smiled. It seemed his day was starting to look up.

Together they walked to the door and the world waiting above.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk with me about the many adventures of these immortals on   
> [tumblr](https://dreamslikepaperlanterns.tumblr.com/) :D


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